


happy birthday, elektra

by RoseateGales



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 05:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20902628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseateGales/pseuds/RoseateGales
Summary: Birth and death, intertwined, inextricable, shortly before noon on August 13th.





	happy birthday, elektra

**Author's Note:**

> written about a year ago, on a blog i had for writing elektra natchios. there’s a reason i don’t write her as much anymore (her content is h e a v y), but i still really like this particular piece. it’s implied, i don’t know if intentionally, by the comics that her parents died on her birthday, and her spending time with them, alone, every year on that day was... a concept that intrigued me.

_“The Aegean Islands are nearby._  
_It is shortly before noon on August 13th._  
_These are the facts. They are written on my birth certificate.”_  
— Elektra: Assassin #1

* * *

Grey clouds have shrouded the sun. Lightning makes known its signal. Thunder thrums in the distance. Rainfall is steady against her window. The wind howls. Fitting, she thinks, that the Gods mourn with her—if indeed they exist.

On the way out of her bedroom, she catches a glimpse of a mirror. Of herself. Oizys, familiar, has dressed her, head to toe: Raven locks flow wild from her crown. Her face is left bare. A black, heavy coat hangs from her shoulders, tied around clothes matching its shade and its hue. Her boots add to the weight at her feet.

She turns the doorknob, and descends down the stairway to exit.

Found in the yard, a chauffeur awaits. Holding an umbrella, he greets her. In turn, she greets him. Hidden from the rain, they walk to the car, each being seated at their intended place. The car doors shut. They drive for a time. On and on, through traffic and through Athens. They stop at a shop, to acquire a bouquet. Silence is undisturbed for the rest of the way.

At arrival, the cemetery welcomes them—welcomes her. Alone does Elektra walk from the car, umbrella and bouquet in her hands, through a garden of gravestones. Patron heroes, saints, gods, and goddesses watch her, from high on their erected monuments, as she walks on the land. She passes graves newly planted and graves wilting with memory. Graves ornate and plain. Granite and marble. Visited and forgotten. Until she reaches the sight of friends—family paying their respects where two souls lie. They notice her. Stavros, Athos, Phaedra, Theo—all hear, all see, all notice her approaching, even as they wet their cheeks with the heavens. Stavros nods, his wise eyes older than she remembers. In turn, she nods back. And she watches as they say goodbye, and leave.

Steady is her breath as she is finally brought to the bed sought out. She stands at its foot, tender in lowering the flowers, a mix of lakspurs and lilies—before lowering herself to kneel onto the dampened grass. Now emptied, a careful hand reaches, fingers tracing the images carved onto the gravestone’s white, textured marble. Her mother’s enamelled portrait; bright - eyed, dressed with auburn curls and a smile painted on, a dimple on left her cheek, still full of youth. Her father’s framed face; worry-lined, hair thinning, wearing an expensive suit and his well-loved glasses, an austere expression marked by a lopsided frown. The black text that reads:

**CHRISTINA NATCHIOS**  
**MARCH 9TH, 1954 — AUGUST 13TH, 1982**  
**HUGO KOSTAS NATCHIOS **  
**OCTOBER 21ST, 1950 — AUGUST 13TH, 2004**

Leaves around her bellow from the breeze. She shivers. Her hand lingers over the dates. Over August 13th. “Hello mother. Hello papa. I have missed you.”


End file.
